Lose Your Mind
by Fxreflies
Summary: Newt's all alone in the Berg while the immune part of the group goes inside the city of Denver. In a 3rd person pov, read about how Newt felt about it and what he did when being forced to go to the Crank Palace. Story starts when Thomas leaves the Berg to when he comes back in the alley with the Cranks to end it all. COMPLETE! (& being edited)
1. Lose Your Mind

"And I'll use you as a warning sign,

that if you talk enough sense then you'll _lose your mind_."


	2. Little Pre-Hand Author's Note

Hello, mates. Little author's note before the story. You don't __have__ to read this, but it might help.

First off, the quote in the first chapter is from a song by Amber Run titled "I Found". Get the connection? - _That_ was __the title of the story you are starting to read!__ I thought that one line from the song added to this story. One: Because I love that song and it gave me a title for this FanFiction. Two: Because Newt was the wise one and he is also the one that's losing his mind. Get it? Ahh... It was like they were made for each other. And: the picture is a lose person/quote because I just wanted to be complete opposites from the title and all. The irony is strong here, shank. Get used to it. (tho now it is newt with crank written on his face cause like it's aesthetic)

Lately, I've been on a lot and this idea just kind of came to me. So, I was like "Hey, I should make that a FanFiction!" So I started to write. These few chapters could be emotional. I know, personally, I felt my heart strings being tugged at. I tried to gather some really __deep__ things and feelings. Sorry.

And I also wanted to just point out: I am not from the UK. So if I miss use(d) any British term/word in the past or present, I apologize. I do try to look them up before hand. And I knew that I should have wrote "rucksack" instead of "backpack" in Lost in Thought.

So, this idea is what Newt does and thinks after Thomas and the rest of the group leave. Newt's stuck in the Berg until some guards - I labeled them as Red Shirts because in The Death Cure, they seemed like the best thing to police - come inside and take him away. Please, no hate, though. This is just a completely random idea that I turned into a story for fun and to stop my boredom. I did go back into The Maze Runner series books to check somethings out so mine is a bit more accurate.

Comment, follow, favorite! It really means a lot! :DD

Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 1

**There are clearly going to be major spoilers if you didn't read up to The Death Cure (TKO and TFC not included).**

* * *

There was something eating his brain. Something horrible. Something _shucking_ horrible. And he couldn't just wish it away.

Newt wanted to go in the city. Really, really, bad. But he also didn't want to infect everyone and burn it to the ground. Or caught not being immune and killed on the spot. So in the Berg - sadly - he stayed.

Half of the time, he'd look in a mirror and just stare at himself. Thinking, _Is that really me?_ He wondered more than he should have about what he had become. He clearly wasn't the Newt that was in the Glade. That Newt, well he's as good as dead. This Newt was different. And he didn't even know what he was. So he looked in the mirror, and then thought, _What kind of half human, half animal creature thing am I really_? There was no point in denying the obvious. He'd changed. A lot. Newt tried to stay positive about it, though, and hope to stay sane.

Hope was the only thing stronger than fear, but in his case, hope wasn't the answer. He needed a cure. And he needed it fast.

The times he wasn't wondering about himself, his thoughts wandered to Thomas. He'd just sit on the floor and curse Thomas out because he hadn't gone the one thing Newt had asked him to do. And now it was too late. No, Newt didn't want to watch himself go crazy - and he was sure the rest of the world didn't want to watch themselves turn either - but they had suffered, and now it was his turn. That was why he asked Thomas to stop the Flare. Newt wanted nothing more than to _not_ be a full-blown Crank, which was exactly what he was forming into. If he'd asked Minho to do it, well, he didn't think Minho could do it. Minho knew Newt, for, well, ever.

For as long as they can remember because they can only remember half of their life. Most of the few - very few - kids that left the Maze are not even above the age of 20. And that's normal for them because they were the ones being trapped in a Maze for two years. They were the ones who made it through the Scorch. They were the ones who are all immune - but Newt - and get to suffer through more trials. _It will just never stop, will it?_ Newt thought.

And Newt didn't want to have the Flare slowly eating away at his brain. But what was he supposed to do but wait? He hated it, though, because every second he wasted, the more the Flare attacked his bruised up brain. It wasn't like he could simple _think_ or _hope_ the disease that had killed almost the whole globe. It was a disease that WICKED has been trying to cure for years. And Newt was supposed to wish it away? If only.

Eventually, he lost track of time. Minutes felt like years and what could have been a year felt like a minute. But Newt knew - for one thing - he wasn't in the Berg for that long. He knew his _best_ and _only_ friends wouldn't just abandon him like that. Well, maybe they would have. Honestly, who _would_ want a Crank with them? But would they leave Newt? After everything they'd been through? No; they would come back.

Unless they were dead. The thought of his pals dead made him have chills. Then Newt smiled. He smiled because at least he knew he wasn't fully past the Gone. Because if he was, he wouldn't have had chills when he thought about Thomas lying dead on a concrete floor. Also because a Gone person wouldn't be able to think as complex as Newt was, right?

Newt wasn't hungry most of the time. He did get the slight feeling like he had to rip something apart and eat it, but he could control it and make it stop. Newt was bored. Bored of every little thing. He was getting impatience, too. But, rarely, when hunger did strike, he found a few canned things around the Berg. No, he didn't to eat it, not at all. But he did. Because if not, he'd starve. Death was something he'd welcome like an old friend, but he all ready tried it himself once and it didn't work for him. Why starve for no reason? Which brought up another reason why Newt asked Thomas to kill him: so Newt didn't mess up again.

Sleep was also something that Newt didn't get much off. He would just lay down in the middle of the floor. Sometimes, he'd feel like he should pull out his hair. Like it would get rid of the little worms eating his brain and turning him into nothing but a Crank. A ugly, filthy Crank that would stop at nothing to get what _it_ wants. It, because once you are a Crank, you are not human anymore.

Newt did get the craving to scream. At the top of his lungs, just to yell and hope WICKED found him so they could put a bullet through his head and end his never-ending pain. He wished the worms in his head would _go away!_

Newt knew it was the Flare doing this to him; making him want to do things that Normal Newt wouldn't do. _But there is no Normal Newt_ , he'd think _, just me, and I am not myself_.

And he couldn't help it. So, sometimes, he did yell and make weird noises, hoping someone would find him. Maybe Thomas, maybe Minho. Who knew anymore? And others, he'd trash the place. Rummage through cabinets and tear everything out. He was filthy and confused and _lost._ All Newt did anymore was wish and think. He wished he would remember his past. He wished that the Flare would bloody go away. He got so lost in his own thoughts, he forget about his sad reality.

So when a knocking came, he thought it was a prayer answered.

* * *

 **That was a little short, yes, I know that. But it was informing you about Newt's life so far - which isn't that great.**

 **Comment what you think! It helps me improve the story and add more. Commenting also lets me know that someone is still interested in my crazy ideas.**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoyed it. I will be ecstatic to see you in some later chapters.**

 **P.s. Remember: this is a 'short story'. It will only contain about ten-ish chapters. So it should be a nice and easy read that will remember you of all your feelings.**

 **Thanks for reading.**

 **Until next time.**


	4. Chapter 2

Newt froze. He slowly stood up from laying on the floor and crept to the backroom. He thought about what to do, trying to clear his mind. What were Denver Guards doing? What were they doing to do? More importantly, what was Newt doing to do. First, he wanted to hide away and hope they would just leave even though he wanted someone to stop the Flare. But it wasn't supposed to be some guards; it was supposed to be Thomas. Then Newt wanted to claw the guards' eyes out, let the inner-Crank lose on them. But lastly, for the desperation, he wanted to open the door and let them in for a warm cup of tea. Maybe they had weapons.

He went for the first option and hid under the bed in the back room.

"Open up!" one of them yelled from outside the Berg. Newt felt like they were inside his skull, though. It was pounding. "We will use force!"

 _Go away, go away, go away_ , Newt thought. _Leave me be_.

But they didn't listen to his plead of a thought. The guards pounded on the door until the metal hinges broke off and the door flung inward, crashing on the floor. Newt saw three different pairs of feet. They started to sweep the Berg, making their way from the front to the back, so Newt's hiding spot would be one of the last places they looked. From what Newt could see, all three of the guards had red shirts on. There was a mask on each of their face, gun in each of their holster. And then there was another weapon. Something Newt had never seen before.

"Maybe it's empty and people are in Denver for a day or two," one of the male guards suggested.

They were halfway done looking through the Berg. Newt had to concentrate on keeping his breathing steady and quiet.

"Maybe some Munie is hiding in here, keeping guard," a female replied. "I did hear a voice when we broke the door down."

A voice? Newt was getting confused a bit. No one said anything but them when they were breaking the door down. It was only thoughts. But speaking of voices, these guards didn't sound _old_. They sounded around the same age as Newt did. Maybe they were captured immunes, too, Newt imagined.

They continued to chat; there was no point for the guards to be quiet when they all ready announced they were coming in. If another person who owned the Berg was inside instead of Newt, and had a weapon, he would have shot the guards all ready. So they knew they were safe. Basically. Newt on the other hand, he had to be silent and hope they didn't notice him because they _did_ have weapons. But not even his breath - that was starting to get heavy - could make a noise. He covered his ears, and closed his eyes. Then Newt bit his tongue. _Don't flare out_ , he thought, _don't go crazy now_.

Newt was startled when a something blocked the light. He opened his eyes and moved his hands away from his ears. _What is out there now_? he thought. There was no noises.

"Well, hello, there!" It was the female. She was bending over and looking at Newt. She then reached a hand under the bed and grabbed Newt's wrist.

He wiggled and tried to break the grip. He also thought about biting her hand to let himself get free. But he didn't. And now his inevitable fate was coming true; he was getting out from under the bed. Where, and what would happen next? He didn't know.

"Well, I'll be damned!" one of the male guards said, running over to pull Newt out. "Sherri, you were right."

Newt was panicking. _Did I say that out loud?_ he thought in his battered mind, _About flaring out?_ He was so confused and scared. His dreaded future was in the hands on these guards with weapons.

"Yes, yes ya did, ya Brit," the second male said, standing behind the other two guards. He was watching everything play out. "Now get your butt out here. Let's talk."

He knew he was done for at that moment. He couldn't even conceal a thought. Newt got dragged out from under the bed. He sat in the center of the Berg's floor, curled in a ball, while the three Denver guards stood in front of him. Blocking the door. Newt was cold, shivering almost. Maybe it was the Flare. Maybe it was because he was terrified of what would happen next. Where would the bullet go? Where would he go? What would his friends think once they returned?

"Don't move," the second male guard said, pulling his gun out from the holster, "or I shoot."

At that moment, Newt had the craving to lung his self at the guard. He wondered why it mattered if he was shot. He knew he was all ready dying. Instead, he stayed still. The female guard - Sherri? - took the special device out and walked forward. She kneeled down and put it in front of Newt's face.

"It won't hurt," she said, not saying what _it_ was exactly.

The device was very close to touching Newt's infected skin. He looked through eye holes and saw flashing colors. White, green, purple, and so on. A puff of air went off and he felt a prick in his neck. Now he knew what the device was for, what it did. Newt wanted to flinch and kick away, but he didn't want his blood to be on the floor when his friends finally came back either. If he was still here, alive, when they came back.

Sherri pulled the device away and jammed it back in its holster. She then turned to her fellow guards. "Nope," she mumbled, fixing the mask on her face.

Nope? What did nope mean? Newt was searching for something, anything that would make sense. Nope, he wasn't dead? Nope, he wasn't from Denver? Nope, he doesn't have anyone else in the Berg? Nope, he wasn't immune? That, he sadly knew all ready. So he asked: "What's wrong?" His voice was a little scratchy. He could tell it caught his three visitors off their guard, too.

"Well," the male without the gun said, "we are taking you away." He said it as if it happens all the time. _Taking you away_.

To where the Cranks live, Newt imagined. He knew he couldn't just stay in the city and infect people, that was why he was in the Berg still in the first place. "Away? Where?" Newt asked anyways. Just to make sure that he was still thinking clearly.

"Where people like you belong."

Those words hit Newt like a wall. He drifted off for a second, thinking about...everything. There was no turning back. No cure. He felt like he just got stabbed in the heart. Newt was a Crank, there was no denying that. He knew that, he'd accepted that, too, but being put in a place with other Cranks? No. That scared him to the bones. Newt was so worried that he jumped when both male guards grabbed his upper arm and started to pull him out of the Berg. His feet stumbled under him; he was more in the air than on his own two feet. Sherri stood at the door, an eager look on her face. "Wait!" Newt yelled, trying to break free. "My friends!"

"Your friends?" Sherri repeated. She shared a look with the other two guards. A look like, _This guy is all ready crazy_.

"For when they come back," Newt said. "C-can I write something?"

"You mean there is more of you in Denver?" one of the male's asked.

"They are immune. Let me go please."

" _Munies_ ," Sherri said. "Guys, let this fellow go. He is friends with important people. Have some manners."

Both let go and Newt fell to the floor. He stood and ran to the back room. Once he returned, there was a paper and marker in his hand. Leaning on the window, Newt wrote a goodbye note with 23 words. Simple, but with meaning. He placed it on the couch and walked to Sherri at the door. "Okay," he whispered.

As Newt followed Sherri - with the two guards behind him; he knew one had a gun pointed at his back - his blood started to boil. He swore, from that moment on, it was Thomas's fault. He didn't listen, didn't read the note. So now, this is on him. Newt wouldn't even be going to this horrid place if it wasn't for Thomas. If Newt ever saw him again, oh, he would get it.

The small group walked along the side of the wall, cutting of Denver from the rest of the world until they made it to a small garage like building. Eventually, the four made it to a van. It was a simple, white van. Nothing much to it. Sherri walked to the back and opened it. "Get in," she said.

Newt wanted so badly to run up to her and slam her head into the van side. Thomas was making him sicker. Thomas was making this worse. Newt hadn't taken a step, so one of the male guards pushed him forward. "Go," they said.

Newt took a step forward and hoped into the back of the van. Sherri slammed the trunk closed and jumped into the front seat. "I'll take it from here, boys," she said and the male guards when back to the city. She started the van and pulled out. "So how many friends do you have in the city?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Are they all immune?" she pushed.

"I don't wanna shucking talk about it!"

"Okay, geez. No need to be cranky," Sherri said.

There was nothing holding Newt down; no seatbelts, nothing. He bounced in the van and ending up hitting the side a few times. He wanted to yell at Sherri to get some driving skills. He also wanted to kick her. But there was bars blocking him from getting into the front part of the van. He wanted Thomas to appear so Newt could give him a piece of his mind. Did he actually want that? Newt didn't, but the Flare did.

He lost track of time in the back of the van. It must have been around an hour before Sherri stopped the van. They were in a clearing along the beginnings of a forest that stretched up the surprisingly green mountainside. About half of the trees were dead, but the other half looked as if they'd just begun to recover from years of massive heat spells. _And once they did recover, the Earth would be uninhabited,_ Newt thought, _everyone'd be dying or all ready dead from the bloody Flare_.

Sherri opened her door. "I'm coming back there," she announced. "Try anything, and I shoot you."

Newt moved to the edge of the trunk, wanting to get out of the back of the van.

Sherri opened the back and Newt jumped out. "Walk forward," she said. "To the wooden wall."

Newt nodded and took a good look at the wall surrounding what had to be the Crank Palace just a few feet away as he started to limp forward. It was made of thick planks of wood. The closest gate was just beginning to open, and two people appeared, both of them holding huge Launchers. They looked exhausted, but wearily they took a defensive stance and aimed their weapons—they'd obviously heard or seen the van's approach.

"Another one, huh?" one said. He had black hair and a mustache and was taller than his partner by a few good inches.

"Yep," Sherri replied. "And be careful; this one can get feisty sometimes."

"Point taken. We'll take him now," the shorter one answered.

Sherri nodded and Newt was handed off to the two Crank Palace guard. "Welcome to your new home," the tall one said. He opened his arms - Launcher still being held - like he was greeting Newt into the Palace. "This way."

Newt walked with one of the guards - the shorter one - as he led Newt to his new home. After they entered the gate, Newt saw right away that the place was filthy. Horrible, smelly. Very poor living conditions. Most windows in the buildings they passed were broken, and the guard explained how it had been a huge mistake to allow glass in the towns at all. It had become the number one source of weaponry. Trash littered the streets, and though he hadn't spotted any people yet, Newt felt like he was being watched from the shadows. In the distance he heard someone yell a few obscenities; then a scream came from another direction, putting Newt even more on edge.

He knew he needed protection. All the decent homes looked taken, though. And Newt didn't want to be in the center of this place without anything. "Shut up," he said, and the guard looked startled. This guy was really getting on Newt's nerves. He wouldn't stop talking about things.

The pair was two rings away from the Central Zone - whatever that meant. Newt hadn't been listening to the guard at all. He just followed, thinking of ways to take the Launcher. They turned a corner and continued to walk. Newt was getting impatience. He wanted the Launcher. Thank God only one guard came to escort Newt away to wherever. As they made their way deeper into the compound, the buildings were shabbier, the streets dirtier.

"I'm taking you to the Central Zone," the guard said. "You can walk 'round wherever you want then."

Newt nodded then made his move. He turned and faced the guard, then dove for his knees. They both slammed to the ground. The guard pulled the trigger of the Launcher and a grenade shot to the way left. Newt pushed the guard so he could see his face, then grabbed the Launcher and pulled. It easily slipped off and Newt fell backwards, landing on his back. He pointed the Launcher at his escort and stood up. "Leave," he said. "Not givin' you a second chance. Run."

"Fine by me!" he replied, standing up and taking off.

Newt watched the man slowly dip from view. Newt then, with the Launcher tightly gripped in his hands, yelled out: "If anyone dares to come near me, I will shoot you!" He saw some Cranks turn their heads and look at him and decided to keep walking forward. He walked through the arch and entered the Central Zone.

* * *

This took a while to write up. Plenty of times, I had to go back into a full online version of The Death Cure to see how the Crank Palace was described. It said that Newt had a Launcher, so now he has one. Anyways, hope you enjoyed... Review, favorite, follow.


	5. Chapter 3

As soon as Newt walked through the arch, a Crank walked up to him. The Crank was curious about the Launcher Newt held in his hand; he clearly showed it as well because his eyes shot right to where it was in Newt's hands. He had tattered hair that was matted to his head in some spots and dried blood over his body. His clothes were ripped but his face was full of enlightenment over the shiny Launcher.

"Where'd you get that at, new boy?" he asked, taking a step closer. "Looks dangerous. Let me have it, I'm older and have more experience."

"None of your bloody business," Newt snapped back. "And _no_." He pulled the Launcher closer to his body and pointed the mussel at the man's chest.

"Oh, come on!" the Crank persisted, putting his hands out like he was going to snatch the weapon. "Just for a quick sec."

"I said _no_."

"Give it here!"

Newt added pressure and the Flare-infested man flew backwards. He slammed into a wall. Newt took a few steps back, not expecting just a powerful blow. Heads turned to the entrance and Newt got another horrible look at the place. Cranks were _everywhere_. They littered the floors and walked around. Newt continued his little trek throughout his new home. He could tell whoever made it had good intentions; there were some places where people could buy things and play games but nothing looked like it still worked anymore. It was a waste-land. Like another Scorch.

Newt continued to go deeper inside the Central Zone, hoping he could find a place to stay. A place where there wasn't too many Cranks running lose. He kept walking until he came across a bowling alley. The bowling alley didn't have any doors - based on the thick rust that covered the exposed hinges, they'd been taken off and disposed of a long time ago. A large wooden sign hung above the entrance, but any words it had once displayed were gone, leaving only faded scratches of color. It wasn't much better than at the start of the Central Zone, but it will have to do.

In the niches where the bowling pins used to stand, several fires burned, which couldn't have been very safe. But at least one person sat at each fire, tending it. The smell of burning wood wafted through the air, and a smoky haze choked the darkness. Other Cranks stood huddled together as if they were sleeping standing up, and some were just curled in balls on the floor, screaming until their necks were a cherry red.

The lanes where people had once bowled were now completely torn up, most of the wood panels ripped out or broken - most of the panels were probably used as weapons. Sleeping bags and blankets filled the spaces now, with people either napping or lying in a daze as they stared at the ceiling. Newt new that only the rich could afford the Bliss, so he wondered how people would dare reveal to others that they were using it in a place like this. He imagined it wouldn't be long before someone decided to do whatever it took to get the drug from them. It was dark in the bowling alley; the light level was low.

No one else came up to Newt after he sat down on top of a wall, his back to the entrance. No one except a group of Cranks who invited him to break into Denver with them. They didn't seem so bad; not all the way pasted Gone. Maybe they wanted Newt because of the Launcher, but Newt accepted the offer anyways. He just hoped his friends where out of the city before he broke in with the other Flare-infested people. Why the Cranks were breaking into Denver, though, Newt didn't know; they didn't tell him. But Newt didn't want to just stay cooped up in the Palace for the rest of his diseased life.

The other Cranks didn't walk up to Newt after that, though. They might have been afraid of him - because he had the Launcher - or they were just thinking about what Newt himself was thinking about. His friends. About how they left him alone in the Berg. And now, the most horrible disease ever was killing him. And there was nothing he could do. Newt didn't pray or ask anyone else for help. What were they supposed to do? They were just as crazy as he was.

And so he sat there. Waiting for something. He didn't know what he was waiting for, though. Newt just felt the Flare eating away at his brain. And when he was just about ready to go join the group of Cranks he met earlier, he heard the distance sound of a Berg. It was a great amount away, Newt could tell, but his first thought was strange. Even to him. He thought it was his friends. It had to be his friends, until it was another shipment of Cranks being thrown into the Palace like he was. So, for hope, he didn't join the Cranks. He waited for something to happen again.

After who-knows-how-long later, someone said his name. And at first, Newt didn't want to turn around at the call of his name. He thought - like the Berg - it could be his friends. That they actually came back for him, but it was too late for that. Thomas had already let Newt down with the note, why would he come back?

But Newt did turn around, for hope. And he was surprised to see the two Crank Palace guards. _How in the world do they know my name_? Newt thought. But instead he asked: "What do you two shanks what?"

"You're friends are here," the taller one that Newt didn't steal the Launcher from asked.

But Newt didn't want to see them. They left him. Newt didn't want his best and only friends to watch him slowly go crazy, not one bit. But they wouldn't stop; they would just keep trying to bring him with them. He was a Crank. There was nothing they - no one, not even WICKED - could do. Because it hit Newt like a train: there is no cure. But that slim change that there was a cure didn't matter. He was too far down the line to be stopped. And Bliss wouldn't help with the Flare either; it just slowed it down. But what would happen when the Bliss ran out? Everyone'd go crazy.

"Tell them to get lost," Newt replied. And he turned around - letting his back face the guards - gripping the Launcher.

They didn't reply after that; they simply accepted the answer and walked back the way the came from. The way were Newt's friends were waiting.

Though, little time after they disappeared, Thomas and the rest of the _immunes_ were in the Crank Palace.

They were about ten feet away from Newt when he suddenly spoke in a loud voice that echoed off the dark walls of the bowling alley. "I told you bloody shanks to get lost!" Newt could then tell that they all stopped. _Probably realizing that coming back for me is a mistake,_ Newt thought _, I'm too far; too Gone_. Saying those words Newt would never be the same - he had only dark days ahead.

"We need to talk to you," Minho said, moving a couple of feet closer to Newt. He had to step over a skinny woman lying on her side.

"Don't come any closer," Newt answered. His voice was soft, but it was full of menace. "Those thugs brought me here for a reason. They thought I was a bloody Immune holed up in that shuck Berg. Imagine their surprise when they could tell I had the Flare eating my brain. Said they were doing their civic duty when they dumped me in this rat hole."

When Minho didn't say anything, Thomas spoke up, trying not to let Newt's words overcome him. "Why do you think we're here, Newt? I'm sorry you had to stay back and got caught. I'm sorry they brought you here. But we can break you out - it doesn't look like anyone gives a klunk who comes or goes."

Newt slowly twisted around to face them. He could tell that they were all surprised that he had his own lil' weapon. And he looked ragged, like he'd been running and fighting and falling down cliffs for three days straight. But despite the anger that had pooled in his eyes, he hadn't been taken by madness quite yet. Not quite yet.

"Whoa, there," Minho said, taking a half a step back - he barely missed stepping on the lady at his heels. "Slim it nice and calm. There's no need to point a shuck Launcher at my face while we talk. Where'd you get that thing, anyway?"

"I stole it," Newt answered, remembering the encounter with the Crank Palace guard. He just wouldn't slim it! "Took it from a guard who made me … unhappy." Newt's hands were shaking slightly, which made his old friends nervous. _A crazy person with a very dangerous weapon, oh, the thoughts in their head!_ Newt imagined. "I'm … not well," Newt said. "Honestly, I appreciate you buggin' shanks coming for me. I mean it. But this is where it bloody ends. This is when you turn around and walk back out that door and head for your Berg and fly away. Do you understand me?"

"No, Newt, I don't understand," Minho said, the frustration in his voice escalating. "We risked our necks to come to this place and you're our friend and we're taking you home. You wanna whine and cry while you go crazy, that's fine. But you're gonna do it with us, not with these shuck Cranks."

Newt suddenly jumped to his feet, so quickly that Thomas almost stumbled backward. Newt lofted the Launcher and pointed it at Minho. "I am a Crank, Minho! I am a Crank! Why can't you get that through your bloody head? If you had the Flare and knew what you were about to go through, would you want your friends to stand around and watch? Huh? Would you want that?" He was shouting by the time he finished, and was shaking more with each passing moment.

Newt then knew that Minho had no words to that. The Runner was shocked. Newt's glare shifted to Thomas, who also looked stunned. "And you, Tommy," Newt said, lowering his voice. "You've got a lot of nerve coming here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me _sick_."

Thomas was stunned silent. Nothing anyone had ever said had hurt so much. Nothing.


	6. Chapter 4

Newt knew Thomas couldn't think of any possible explanation for the statement. He was shocked. _Clearly he didn't read the note because if he would, he would_ _understand_ , Newt thought, _he would understand why I am so bloody sick of him_.

"What are you talking about?" Thomas asked, finally thinking of words to say.

Newt didn't respond, just kept staring at him with hardened eyes, his arms shaking, his Launcher pointed at Thomas's chest because Newt was furious. It was getting hard to say calm with the group. But then he stilled and his face softened. He lowered the weapon and looked at the floor.

"Newt, I don't get it," Thomas persisted quietly. "Why are you saying all this?"

Newt looked up again, and there was none of the bitterness that had been there just seconds earlier. He didn't know what was going on in his head. He is angry one second, calm the next. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry. But I need you to listen to me. I'm getting worse by the hour and I don't have many sane ones left. Please leave."

When Thomas opened his mouth to argue, Newt held up his hands, having enough of Thomas's klunk. "No! No more talking from you. Just … please. Please leave. I'm begging you. I'm begging you to do this one thing for me. As sincerely as I've ever asked for anything in my life, I want you to do this for me. There's a group I've met that are a lot like me and they're planning to break out and head for Denver later today. I'm going with them."

He paused, and noticed how hard Thomas was making it look to stay quiet. Newt then continued: "I don't expect you to understand, but I can't be with you guys anymore. It's gonna be hard enough for me now, and it'll make it worse if I know you have to witness it. Or worst of all, if I hurt you. So let's say our bloody goodbyes and then you can promise to remember me from the good old days."

"I can't do that," Minho said.

"Shuck it!" Newt yelled. "Do you have any clue how hard it is to be calm right now? I said my piece and I'm done. Now get out of here! Do you understand me? Get out of here!"

Newt's eyes flickered behind Thomas where someone poked his shoulder and he spun to see that several Cranks had gathered behind the group of Gladers. The person who'd jabbed Thomas was a tall, broad-chested man with long, greasy hair. He reached out again and pushed the tip of his finger into Thomas's chest. Newt sensed danger was going to happen soon.

"I believe our new friend asked you people to leave him alone," the guy said as Newt remembered him from the group of Cranks who invited him to go to Denver. His tongue snaked out to lick his lips as he spoke.

"This is none of your business," Thomas replied. "He was our friend way before he came here."

The man slicked his hand over his oily hair, then pointed to Newt. "That boy's a Crank now, and so are we. That makes him our business. Now leave him alone."

Minho spoke before Thomas could respond. "Hey, psycho, maybe your ears are clogged with the Flare, but this is between us and Newt. You leave."

The man scowled, then brought up a hand to show a long shard of glass gripped in his fist. Blood dripped from where he held it.

"I was hoping you would resist," he snarled. "I've been bored."

His arm flashed out, the glass slicing toward Thomas's face. Thomas ducked toward the floor and reached up with his hands to deflect the blow. But before the weapon hit him, Brenda stepped in and swatted the guy's hand away, which sent the glass shard flying. Then Minho was on him, tackling the Crank to the ground. They landed on the woman he'd stepped over earlier to get to Newt, and she screamed bloody murder, started flailing and kicking. Soon the three of them were entangled in a wrestling match.

"Stop it!" Newt yelled, blood boiling. "Stop it now!"

Thomas had been frozen in place, crouching as he waited for an opportunity to jump in and help Minho. But he twisted around to see that Newt was holding his Launcher in shooting position, his eyes wild with fury.

"Stop or I'll start shooting and not give a buggin' piece of klunk who gets hit," Newt said.

The man with the greasy hair pushed his way out of the melee and stood up, kicking the woman in the ribs as he did so. She wailed as Minho got to his feet, scratches covering his face. The electric sound of the Launcher's charge filled the air just as Thomas got a whiff of burnt ozone. Then Newt squeezed the trigger. A grenade smashed into Greasy Hair's chest and lightning tendrils enveloped his body as he fell screaming to the ground, writhing, legs rigid, drool foaming out of his mouth.

Newt saw the non-infected people's faces. They were clearly surprised; happy that the Launcher was not shot at them. Thomas looked at Newt with wide eyes.

"I told him to stop," Newt half whispered. Then he aimed the weapon at Minho, but it was shaking because his arms were. Newt was getting worried. He was afraid he would get mad - really mad - and go crazy, on his friends. He wanted them to leave so he _wouldn't_ hurt them but if they stayed any longer, the opposite would happen. He'd already shot two Cranks. "Now you guys leave. No more discussion. I'm sorry."

Minho held up his hands. "You're going to shoot me? Old pal?"

"Go," Newt said. "I asked nicely. Now I'm telling. This is hard enough. _Go_."

"Newt, let's go outside.…"

"Go!" Newt stepped closer and aimed more fiercely, even though he was still trembling. "Get out of here!" Newt hated it. He hated everything about this moment. He hated about he could _feel_ that he just lost an hint of sanity; he was taken over by complete wildness.

"Let's go," Thomas said, one of the saddest things he'd ever heard himself say. "Come on."

Minho's gaze snapped to Thomas, and he looked like his heart had been shattered. "You can't be serious."

Thomas could only nod.

Minho's shoulders slumped, and his eyes fell to the floor. "How did the world get so shucked?" The words barely came out, low and full of pain.

"I'm sorry," Newt said, and there were tears streaming down his face. "I'm … I'm going to shoot if you don't go. Now."

Newt watched them leave. Thomas, who seemed to not be able to take it anymore, grabbed Brenda's hand and then Minho's upper arm and started to pull them to the exit. They had to step over bodies - Cranks, things that their friend was. Minho didn't resist and Thomas didn't meet anyone's gaze. Jorge later followed after Thomas. Newt just watched them keep going, until he couldn't see them anymore.

And Newt didn't know what to think as they walked away from him. Away from him and his diseased brain.


	7. Chapter 5

Newt didn't know what to think exactly as he was left alone. This is what he wanted, yes. But what now? Sit and watch until he can't remember anything else? Become consumed by the Flare? Newt didn't want his friends in the Palace any longer. They'd just start more trouble. And Newt couldn't go with them anyways. He was a Crank. He was infested. He was crazy. He didn't want to hurt them anymore. _They could have a future_ , he thought _, I don't_.

So Newt stood up and walked over to the group of Cranks he was going to break out with. Most of them carried weapons: glass, pipes, metal signs; anything they could salvage from the ground that would do damage. Some quietly whispered to each other. Other just stood like they were waiting for something to happen. But they all knew they were ready to break out. So all of the infested that wanted a free ticket out started to run to the entrance of the Palace.

Newt knew not all of them would make it out. The guards had weapons, too; better weapons for a matter of fact. But Newt still limped along with the group. He went in the middle, so that if someone did end up getting shot, there'd be other bodies blocking the way until the grenade reached Newt.

Some of the Cranks tripped up before they even got to the entrance. Like they simply fell; tripped over their own two feet until they rolled and got up again. But throughout the whole run, Newt couldn't help but think that this is what life would be like for him forever now. Running and tripping from guards with his Flare-infested brain. There wasn't anything he could possibly do about it now. Sure, he did have the Launcher, but did he want to shot and let some other way-pasted Gone Crank pick it up? Not really. And the bullets wouldn't last forever.

So Newt ended up running until he reached the entrance of the Palace - or to him, the exit. His ankle was hurting like crazy, but he was also crazy, so it wasn't bothering him as much as it had in the Maze. _The Maze_. Memories of those two years of being trapped flooded Newt's bruised mind. Those where _blissful_ days compared to this.

Once Newt reached the area where the two guards should be, there was no one there. He basically stopped in his tracks. Why was this place unguarded? He turned around, getting another full 360 view and that was when he realized that there were about double the amount of Cranks than before. They were all running around like crazy, screaming things out.

"Did you see those pretty Munies?" one asked.

"Oh, yeah," another replied. "Heard they came for their _cranky_ friend."

Then they both started to laugh. Hysterically. And this made Newt angry. They had _no_ idea what they were talking about.

"Hey!" he yelled, walking back to a small home where they stood. "What did you buggin' shanks just say?"

The two Cranks looked at each other like Newt was the only crazy one. "Shanks?" they repeated, flaring their arms everywhere as they made the hysterical laugh once more. They then ran off pasted Newt, trying to escape just like the rest of the Cranks.

Newt was now in the back of the mob as more Cranks trampled in front of him, eager to leave the Palace. They were clearly confused about the guards as well. He knew the only way out was to get inside of the small control center and push the button that would open the door. Just, the question was, how was someone going to get in there?

"Bloody hel-" Newt mumbled as a piece of glass was thrown by his head.

He watched the Cranks pile up, banging on the gate. It was so hard for Newt to be calm at this moment. He was trying to sustain his sanity. Giving in would only make it worse. But when the thought of staying in here with all of these psycho, he had no choice. As the banging continued, like no one knew they had to push a button, Newt ran forward to the cubical-like wooden building. He guess that was where the guards stayed, considering they popped out of there whenever someone - crazy or not - came close.

Dropping the Launcher somewhere along the line, he opened the wooden door and ran inside. He immediately spotted the button but his hands flew to his head, ripping at his own hair, trying to get the worms out. He heard someone yelling at him and brought his hands down, smashing them on the bright red button labeled _Gate_. Right then, the huge wooden door opened just like it had when Newt was being dropped off.

He had no idea where he was going, so Newt just followed the rest of the Cranks. And he tended to just do whatever they did; he was already blending in. Newt started to get more annoyed at the Flare, as well. He could still feel it attacking what little sanity he had left. And sometimes, he's thoughts still lingered to his friends. There wasn't much left to say about them. They were _old news_.

They were in the life of the Newt who didn't really exist anymore.

Eventually, the group of infested made it about half way to Denver. It took a while, considering people would just stop and walk around like they were completely lost and needed help. Or sometimes, they would dig in the trash cans and pull out pieces of garbage like a banana peel and show it off like it was a diamond. But Newt started to judge less and less by each passing hour. This is what he was becoming as well.

So he finally found his real home. The Glade was just a test; he was forced in there. The Scorch? Same as the Glade; it was just a lie, trying to get more brain patterns. But now? Those Red Shirts didn't ask WICKED what to do; that was just their job. It might have been an accident coming into the Crank Palace, but at least it wasn't another test. At least the rest of the people who were running around the alley were like Newt.

He was finally found.

But he was also lost more than ever.


	8. Chapter 6

A day pasted.

The Flare came and went, making Newt get mad some times, and break down the next. Newt didn't get much sleep on the alley floor, either. There were Cranks that just screamed all night long, keeping the people who weren't as long down the line awake. But he figured out that he'd stay better of in a group. And they were still digging in the trash. Newt pulled his knees to his chest, and curled up like a ball, his back leaning against the wall. When one Crank pulled up something that another one wanted, a fight broke out. They got cheered on and brutally hurt.

Which was happening now; a fight. Over a bag of garbage.

At that moment, Newt stood up and took a few steps to the fight. He placed his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. "Stop!" he yelled. Then moved in closer and grabbed the bag of trash.

"Oh, I'm sorry," one of the Cranks who was fighting said, licking his lips. He had a huge cut across his right cheek. "Did we, _mhm_ , get in the way of your pouting?"

"Can you just..." Newt trailed off, at a lost of words. There wasn't much to say; these people were crazy. Newt, following soon.

"Can we just what?" the other spat. Newt didn't realize it, but it was a girl.

"Get a bloody grip!" he finally yelled, throwing the trash bag back at their faces.

The male looked at the female. "'Xcuse me?" he slurred. " _No_. Now go back to your lil' spot, and cry some more." He then extended his arms and pushed Newt in the shoulders, making him stumble backwards.

"Buggers," Newt murmured, leaning against the wall again. Newt shut his eyes now, waiting for someone to continue the fight. He got the craving to punch them, too, now. Got the craving to continue being a Crank.

The group of Cranks has become much bigger now. Apparently, there were Cranks already outside the Palace that got rid of some police, so Newt's escape was pretty easy. But now, the Cranks were going after anything that moved. They were looking out for anything. Sure, Newt could tell, they really didn't want to spend the rest of their life up in the Palace; they wanted to spend it ripping things apart.

Newt's clothes were tattered now. His shirt was ripped, barely hanging on his thin frame. His pants were filthy with grime and blood from who-knows-what. And, the bruises that spotted Newt's face, he didn't even know how they got there. But he could tell that they were there because it hurt whenever he touched his cheeks. There was no point trying to stay clean in the life he was living.

There was no going back from the point he was at, as well.

Newt went from alley to alley, looking in them, digging in the trash. He didn't know what else to do. Whenever he looked up, though, the skyscrapers where broken. Some of them looked like they could fall at any minute. There were windows that were covered with sheets and some were boarded up. They sky was a dull blue color, empty of the fluffy clouds. And rarely, there would be a stray cat or dog. But the Cranks would just pounce on it.

Even with the boarded up windows, the Cranks would rip off, trying to find something to _play_ with. And one day, they did. Because after about five went inside a building, they returned with blood on their hands and at the bottom of their feet, leaving a trail. Of course, though, they returned after the screech of a girl's cries. Newt wondered why she didn't just go and live in Denver. They broke into cars, as well, honking the horn like crazy.

That all happened yesterday; it has been two days since Newt left the Crank Palace and he was already missing the Glade. Oh, the sweet smell of Frypan's breakfast in the morning. The frightened little faces of the Greenie's each month. Yes, Newt did hate that place down to his bones, but _anything_ was better than watching Cranks rip things apart. It was absolutely horrible.

Now, they were in a large alley way. There was another crowd of people who were fighting over another trash bag, tossing debris and pushing and shoving, throwing punches. There were old packages of food and half-rotten meat and scraps of leftovers but no one was able to hold one thing in their hand before someone tried to steal it. Punches flew and fingers clawed and scratched. One man had a huge gash under his eye, a smear of blood dripping down his face like red tears.

Behind them, there were several cars that were stolen from the road by the Cranks - old models, their shells dented, most of the paint gone - driving in circles, swerving and spinning out, crashing into each other. It was a miracle no one on the road had been hit yet.

Newt was standing about 20 feet behind the cars, who had suddenly stopped. He was in the middle of the alley way, facing the white van that was attempting to drive - at high speeds - between two of the three cars who had stopped and were lined up facing the oncoming van. The driver didn't slow down. Instead the van turned, heading for the larger gap between the car to the right and the one in the middle. Then in a flash, the car on the left bolted forward, turning sharply to try to catch the van before it got by.

Newt was watching it all play out. Who were these people? Why did they dare come this way? Brave, or stupid? He hadn't gotten a good look through the windows yet, but he could tell that the people inside were on the brick of panicking. The two cars lining the gap didn't move, but the third car was banking and heading straight for van. Newt saw that they had no chance, but it was too late.

The front hood of the van had just crossed the threshold of the gap when the third car slammed into the back of its left side. Newt watched as shadows in the van flew to the left and hit the bar between the two side windows, which shattered with a horrible crunch. Glass flew in all directions and the van spun in circles, its tail end like a whip. The passengers were clearly trying to get a grip of something, not wanting to slam into the windows again.

The sounds of squealing tires and metal scraping against metal filled the air. But they all had stopped when the van finally hit the cement wall.

Newt tried to look though the window, wanting to see who was in the white van in the Crank alley way. Newt eyes fluttered for a quick second to all of the three vehicles that were suddenly driving off, the sounds of their engines fading as they disappeared down the long, straight road, back the way the people in the van had just came.

Then the strangest thing happened. Newt looked through the van's front window and saw someone looking back at him. It took him a second to register that the person in the back was his old friend.

Thomas.


	9. Chapter 7

Newt looked horrible. He knew that like he knew he was male. He honestly didn't care that Thomas saw him this way, though. He'd watch him crumble ever since Newt's name was announced non-immune by Janson.

But Thomas still stared at him, as if he recognized that he'd stumbled upon a friend.

Newt watched Thomas chat with the driver of the van. He also noticed Brenda in the back and another girl in the passenger's seat. The driver shifted into reverse and the van wobbled away from the cement wall, the crunch of broken plastic and metal and the squeal of tires erupting in the complete silence that had fallen. He then started to drive off, and it was only until then that switch in Thomas's head flipped.

Newt watched him yell at the driver some more, only catching the muffled sounds of words. The driver slammed on the brakes as Thomas scrambled to his feet and went for the back door. He started to open it when driver grabbed his shirt from behind and yanked him backward, yelling at him.

But this time, Thomas didn't let that stop him. Newt watched as the Greenie yanked a gun - _a_ gun _, so maybe Thomas would listen to the note?_ Newt thought - out of his pants and pointed it at the man in the driver's seat who immetetly let go of Thomas and threw his hands in the air. Thomas then backed up, and for a half of a second, his eyes fluttered back to Newt as he spoke more.

The woman in the passengers seat opened her mouth as well and Newt caught a few words from that: _friends, Cranks, Gone_. Newt watched Thomas then reply to her. The driver spoke some more. Newt knew what they were talking about; there was no questioning that. Thomas wanted to get out of the van and talk to Newt, but he was surrounded by Cranks. Cranks: the filthy animals that his friend have now become.

Newt looked over to the Cranks who were still fighting. It was like they could just zone out the rest of the world and focus on the next punch. Focus on getting the bag of trash. Why? Newt still never understood. Maybe it was because he didn't reach that point of insaneness yet, but the feeling was, little by little, coming to him. It could be that they just wanted to conceal the rest of their life and fight it away. Like how people used to drink they problems away, Cranks fight them away. Ignore everything and just kick, punch, and scream.

Newt looked back to Thomas. Who, after everything, turned away from the other people in the van, slipping the pistol back into his jeans. He went out of Newt's sight for a moment and returned after the back of the van door's slammed shut. He walked slowly toward his friend, who stood alone, far away from the pack of Cranks still working on their pile of refuse. They still seemed satisfied with that - they didn't seem interested in Thomas nor Newt.

Thomas walked half the distance to Newt, then stopped. He finally might have saw the wildness in Newt's two eyes. They were full of madness; two festering pools of sickness. Even Newt wondered how he had gone down the drain so quickly. His life is just like all the other Cranks, just wondering around, getting mad at everything.

"Hey. Newt. It's me, Thomas. You still remember me, right?"

A sudden clarity filled Newt's eyes then. Newt noticed it almost made Thomas step back in surprise.

"I bloody remember you, Tommy. You just came to see me at the Palace, rubbed it in that you ignored my note. I can't go completely crazy in a few days."

Those words surprised Thomas, Newt could see that. "Then why are you here? Why are you with … them?" the Greenie asked.

Newt looked at the Cranks again, then back at Thomas. "It comes and goes, man. I can't explain it. Sometimes I can't control myself, barely know what I'm doing. But usually it's just like an itch in my brain, throwing everything off-kilter just enough to bother me - make me angry." Talking about the itch in his brains, made Newt want to scratch his head. Want him to make the worms go away.

"You seem fine right now."

"Yeah, well. The only reason I'm with these wackers from the Palace is because I don't know what else to do. They're fighting, but they're also a group. You find yourself alone, you don't have a bloody chance."

"Newt, come with me this time, right now. We can take you somewhere safer, somewhere better to …"

Newt laughed, and when he did his head twitched strangely a couple of times. The worms were multiplying and the sanity was dripping away. He was getting annoyed at his old friend, but he wanted to see what he'd do with the gun. "Get out of here, Tommy. Get away."

"Just come with me," Thomas begged. "I'll tie you up if it makes you feel better."

This time, Newt felt the switch trigger and the Flare started to take control. His face suddenly hardened into anger and his words shot out in a rage. "Just shut up, you shuck traitor! Didn't you read my note? You can't do one last, lousy thing for me? Gotta be the hero, like always? I hate you! I always hated you!"

"Newt …" Thomas trailed off.

"It was all your fault! You could've stopped them when the first Creators died. You could've figured out a way. But no! You had to keep it going, try to save the world, be the hero. And you came to the Maze and never stopped. All you care about is yourself! Admit it! Gotta be the one people remember, the one people worship! We should've thrown you down the Box hole!"

Newt's face had colored to a deep red, and spit flew from his mouth as he yelled. He started taking lumbering steps forward, his hands balled into fists. He was getting fed up with Thomas.

"I'm gonna blast him!" a voice yelled from the van.

"Get out of the way!" Thomas turned. "Don't! It's just me and him! Don't do anything!" He faced Newt again. "Newt, stop. Just listen to me. I know you're okay in there. Enough to hear me out."

"I hate you, Tommy!" He was only a few feet away and Thomas took a step backward. But Newt was losing control again; he felt the Flare eating him up again. He felt his anger rise even more. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! After all I did for you, after all the freaking klunk I went through in the bloody Maze, you can't do the one and only thing I've ever asked you to do! I can't even look at your ugly shuck face!"

Thomas took two more steps back. "Newt, you need to stop. They're going to shoot you. Just stop and listen to me! Get in the van, let me tie you up. Give me a chance!"

Newt screamed and rushed forward, having enough of Thomas's pleads. An arc of Launcher lightning shot from the van, skidding and crackling across the pavement, but it missed him. Thomas had frozen in place, and Newt tackled him to the ground, knocking the breath out of him. Newt then pined Thomas down as he tried to get his lungs filled with air once more.

"I should rip your eyes out," Newt said, spraying Thomas with spit. "Teach you a lesson in stupidity. Why'd you come over here? You expected a bloody hug? Huh? A nice sit-down to talk about the good times in the Glade?"

Thomas shook his head, gripped by terror. Newt saw him reach for the weapon out of the corner of his eye.

"You wanna know why I have this limp, Tommy? Did I ever tell you? No, I don't think I did."

"What happened?" Thomas asked, stalling for time as he slipped his fingers around the weapon.

"I tried to kill myself in the Maze. Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off. Alby found me and dragged me back to the Glade right before the Doors closed. I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. And it was all … your … fault!"

Newt suddenly twisted around and grabbed Thomas by the hand holding the gun. He yanked it toward himself, forcing it up until the end of the pistol was pressed against his own forehead. "Now make amends! Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else. Now do it!"

Thomas tried to pull his hand away, but Newt was too strong. "I can't, Newt, I can't."

"Make amends! Repent for what you did!" The words tore out of him, his whole body trembling. Then his voice dropped to an urgent, harsh whisper. "Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery."

The words horrified Thomas. "Newt, maybe we can—"

"Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!" Newt couldn't take it anymore with the other Cranks.

"I can't."

"Do it!"

"I can't!"

"Kill me or I'll kill you. Kill me! Do it!"

"Newt …"

"Do it before I become one of them!"

"I …"

"KILL ME!" And then Newt's eyes cleared, as if he'd gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened. "Please, Tommy. Please."

With his heart falling into a black abyss, Thomas pulled the trigger.

* * *

This story is trash. I'm sorry.

 _Ugh._

I haven't updated Lost in Though in a while, and trust me, I know. Give me a few more days to get the data back. It's nothing, I just, I've been busy.

There is going to be more to this story; probably another chapter.

I know, there are a lot of similarities between the original story and this, but it _is_ the same thing, just from another pov.

Disclaimer: All rights go to James Dashner.


	10. Chapter 8

**Minor spoilers for The Fever Code.**

* * *

 _ _Pop!__

The sound of a gun shot.

Newt felt everything, then nothing at once.

All of his rage, all of his anger, everything, gone. After he bundled everything inside of him for so long - depression in the Glade, confusion in the Scorch, anger in the Crank Palace - it felt good to feel nothing again. Like he was floating in the sky, blowing with the wind.

It was like he was back home, perfectly safe. Like he was five again, cradled in his mother's arms with his dad behind him, his dog running around, and his sister, Lizzy, who was two years younger, next to him. It felt like everything was fine. Before the Cranks, before the Maze, before WICKED, before the Flares. Before everything horrible happened, when the world took things for granted.

Before fresh water was something that people fought over because it was so rare and canned foods were the favorite thing to eat. When you could walk down the street without the fear of being jumped on by something that was barely half human.

Newt felt like Newt again. The Newt that wasn't actually named Newt. When he didn't have the Flare eating his brain and there wasn't people watching every move he did just for some cure that was never going to happen.

Newt felt __fine__.

"Thanks, Tommy."

* * *

 **Tada! How was this story? It's now finished!**

 **James Dashner did say that Newt gets reincarnated into Thomas's talking pet parrot when the four living Gladers make it to 'Paradise'. :D**

 ** _ _Four. Oh, my. Gally, Minho, Frypan, and Thomas. Well...__**

 **I hope this small ending chapter makes you feel a bit better because Newt is finally free.**

 **Anyways, its finished now! I really hoped you enjoyed it. It was fun to write out and make into a story.**

 **What do you think? Comments are really appreciated.**

 **Thanks for reading my lil' short-story!**

 **C'ya later.**

 **~fxreflies**


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